


Here is just an example

by SheWalksInBeauty



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 15:53:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/915109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheWalksInBeauty/pseuds/SheWalksInBeauty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>American University AU in which Harry is ridiculously camp, Niall refuses to get a mini fridge, Zayn and Liam go to rival schools and Louis is terrifying and beautiful.<br/>---</p><p>We only have one semester left. Let’s not fuck it up. </p><p>He had all these papers crammed in his binders. I wondered if it was as much of a mess in his head. I think it must have been. The mess, I guess, was a result of the accumulation of a whole year’s worth of worksheets and notes. In which case, his head was probably a similar catastrophe of built up knowledge and crinkled up letters.<br/>I don’t want to say that I remember everything about him because I’m trying not to lie about this boy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written fanfiction before. So bear with me.
> 
> Also, this got tagged incorrectly originally but I fixed it. Sorry all. 
> 
> Disclaimer: this is fiction and I don't know any of the people referenced nor am I implying anything about their actual, real lives.

I’ve never met a man who’s scared me like he did. It was something about his eyes or the set of his jaw. How he was quick to smile and had a lightness about him that was pulled taut. I expected him to crack or to snap and leave me bruised or blistered from an overwhelming heat. He just seemed so unbelievably beyond reach. Like a greater being or a glass wall. Around him, I felt like a charged cube in an electric field. I felt like a permamagnet unable to touch the ground.  
So when he smiled at me and sat next to me I practically choked on my drink. I could have died. I didn’t and he just laughed a bit in a totally terrifying way. “Hey! Fancy seeing you here!” I liked the way he greeted me first, before placing his palm firmly on the table and leaning toward the bartender. “I’ll have whatever she’s having.” He grinned, oblivious to the tall, slightly awkward bartender’s amused expression.  
“Really?” the bartender asked, fiddling with some glasses stacked to his right, and I answered quickly, “no he’s not. No, you’re not.” He looked confused and I wanted to cry and run away and cry, but I coughed that back into my throat and swirled my drink a bit, watching it and definitely not watching him. “I don’t drink- this is water- I don’t drink.” I stumbled through an explanation, waiting for him to laugh at me, but he just nodded seriously and then turned back to tall-awkward-bartender.  
“Just pour some vodka into a glass” he smirked a bit, “I’m not picky.” Then he turned back to me and watched me silently as I thought over and over how I wished he would go away. We weren’t especially friends, since I couldn’t say more than two words to him without wanting to wet myself and he was like a fucking majestic unicorn or a statue or a library in that he made me want to be quiet and follow the rules. I felt chastised just being near him. No- he was Harry’s fucking friend and Harry wasn’t here so I don’t know why I had to deal with him instead.  
It’s not that I didn’t like him, more that he made me feel like a child when he watched me like that- calm eyes and easy shoulders- and I wasn’t a child so it sucked. His drink arrived, slid across the bar by the tender and he paid for it and then raised his eyebrows at me and leaned closer and whispered, “so why are you here then? Sitting at the bar in some dinge club in the city not drinking.” I must have looked so stupid. I was alone- which was stupid- and I was drinking water- which was more so. In the fucking city. Of all the damn bars he could have walked into. This wasn’t exactly a student dive. I’d gone out of my fucking way.  
“People come to bars when they’re miserable. -- oh my fucking god” Oh my god. Oh my god. I did not just say that. I looked up from my knees and caught his eye and his face was crinkled like folded lace next to his lashes and he was grinning with amusement.  
“Yeah- to drink.” And that made me mad and defensive and scared and I just wanted him to go away.  
“Fuck off. Fuck you. I can drink whatever I fucking want and be as miserable as I fucking please, you fucker.” And I tried to turn off my brain- I didn’t want to survey the damage of that stupid outburst.  
“Jesus, are you sure you’re sober?” He laughed. He laughed. “I’m not judging. It’s just fucking weird.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “That sounds like I’m judging but I’m not. That’s just a statement of fact.” I didn’t know what to say so I didn’t say anything and I just waited and hoped that he would feel the awkwardness that I was exuding and get freaked out or annoyed and leave. I hope that he would laugh to himself a bit then spot some guy with a hot ass and follow him onto the dance floor and leave. I hoped he would remember some very important appointment he’d made for midnight on a thursday and apologize and leave. I hoped he- “hey,” he whispered. He was halfway through his glass of vodka which is impressive because vodka is nasty and he was leaning toward me again which had an amplifying effect on the fear pooling just below my diaphragm and he was training his eyes on me in this serious and terrifying way and he was gorgeous. “Do you wanna dance?” What?  
Nothing was making any sense. I had come here on some strange and ridiculous whim. I was feeling miserable and I wanted to feel mysterious instead. I had wanted to scrub all the make-up off my face and sit at a bar in a terrible club in the heart of the city. I had wanted to appear mysterious and mature and amazing. I had wanted some hot guy or some drunk nerd to stumble over and hit on me even though shit like that never happened to me. Only beautiful girls appear poetic sitting alone at bars. Not-unattractive-but-definitely-not-hot history majors just look stupid and abandoned and pathetic and I didn’t even really mind that since I was really alone I didn’t mind appearing to be really alone. But no, here was Louis clearly buzzed and completely out of place. Too put together for this stupid bar and too fucking gorgeous to care to rub naughty bits with me and too fucking smart to try a quick shag on one of his best friend’s friends. It was too much and it was too stupid and it was ruining my night.  
“No.” I said, perhaps a bit too harshly, and I stood and pushed my way to the bathroom. Inside, I stood in line for a stall and stared at myself in the mirror. I looked stupid. My hair was a mess of thick, frizzy chaos from the heat of the club and my cheeks and forehead were slick with sweat. My skin was splotchy and oh my god! was that a double chin? (no- I decided after a moment, but the fact that even came to mind had me rethinking my last meal, which had me chastising myself about positive body image and feeling more miserable).  
When I stepped into the stall I realized that I didn’t have my bag. No, like a fucking idiot, I’d left it on the floor, next to my stool, at the bar. With Louis. I considered what was in it, then shrugged. I had my phone, my card, my student ID in the pocket of my jeans and I could replace all the lipgloss, the pens, and even the book from the library I’d forgotten to leave behind in my room. So if somebody stole it- whatever. I wasn’t going to race back there to fetch it. Rather, I sank down on the seat without removing my pants and crammed my hands against my face; maybe I could push the stupid right out of it.  
But all I could think about were his eyes. Which made me groan, because fuck it. That’s so stupid. I never notice people’s eyes- who does? really. I couldn’t name my bestfriend’s eye color (blue? grey? hazel?) and I was only aware of my own from all the close contact I’d had with mirrors putting on mascara. I could care less about eye color. Except his. His were so damn blue and I always noticed them. They are the first thing I see and the last thing I remember and I could go on and on and on because there is no color more pure in this world than his eyes when his cheeks round and his lips pull and he laughs. They’re a blue that won’t disappear. Blue that lingers and demands to be inspected. Blue that cancels breaths and makes all these damn promises that it has no fucking right to make. Blue, like the sweater he was wearing which was dark and made the beginnings of a beard on his chin stand out against his pale skin. The sweater which clung to his chest and hugged around his stomach and his arms. And reminded me of a fucking teacher or a scientist and what was up with that? I sighed and it turned into a growl of exasperation and I stood and I flushed the empty toilet and I went to wash my hands.

He ruined my fucking night.


	2. The stupid first kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea where this is going, but it's fun to write!

* * *

* * *

When I made it back to the bar, he was still there and I considered just bypassing the entire situation and leaving right then. But I was stopped only a few feet away and he turned and he saw me. So I sat. Well, I sat because on his face was this look of mixed concern and a bit of excitement, like he hadn’t expected me back and ohmygod he was happy that I was. So. I sat.

“I’m so sorry,” he said quickly, looking quite a bit ashamed of himself. “That was such a dick move. You said you were upset but I was just thinking about- ...I’m sorry, you probably think I’m such a dick.” I didn’t really know how to react to this sort of thing. He was making very little sense, but from what I could gather he thought I was mad and him instead of mostly terrified of him and only a little bit mad at the world.

I tried to correct him, “no, it’s just-”

“I’m sorry” he interrupted, “I just wanted to get smashed tonight and then I saw you and I thought you might get smashed with me. Harry says you’re a good friend and funny and I dunno, I was like: fate! But I should have thought- so I’m not going to get tossed tonight, I’ve decided, since I’m already an ass and you came back so maybe. I dunno. Do you want to talk?” He was an inarticulate bumbling mess of stupid. What? Where were the smooth words and the sly smiles and the cheeky grins that he was always flashing pretty boys whenever Harry dragged her out with all his English concentrator friends? I wasn’t particularly surprised that Harry had mentioned me; Harry just genuinely liked people. He would go on and on about the personal merits of Al Capone if he met him in a bar. No- it was Louis lack of grace, completely out of character, which was so utterly confusing. Then I flushed with shame.

Of course, something was going on. He was probably very upset; it must have been something horrible if he was sitting in this place and talking to me. Instead of somebody important. And he was still scary. So damn scary, but there was a little something in the tilt of his head and the question in his eyes (blue) that made me want to comfort him instead of run away. I want to make him better so that he could go back to making me feel like I was going to faint.

“Let’s get out of here.” I picked up my bag and turned towards the door. “This place is awful. What were we even thinking?” He nodded somewhat too eagerly so that his hair flopped a bit and he looked like an over excited puppy or a four year old high on sugar and he followed me out.

 

An abandoned playground? A late-night cafe? Those would have been too cliche. Instead we ended up on a bench next to a street light next to some office buildings in the financial district. We sat facing tall buildings and an empty street; Louis had his legs pushed out and his knees locked, his butt just barely resting on the lip of the bench seat. I was curled back, with my own legs pulled up and a safe four inches between our two bodies.

“It’s just,” he tipped his head back, exposing his neck and his adam’s apple which shook when he spoke. “I feel like it doesn’t fucking matter. I know I’m going to get a fucking job, this school is good for something, and I know how it’s supposed to go: life, career, family, taxes. You know? But it’s like it doesn’t even matter.”

I considered what he was saying. I felt some of it, the futility, and I thought, morbidly, that it accompanied the darkness and the chill of the night quite well. I thought about what he would want to hear. What would make him feel better? What would make him smile or forget? But my lips ran on without me, “it doesn’t matter.” I took a breath, forcing my words into some kind of order, “we don’t matter. We’re just people. We’re just us. It’s them who matter. The next ones. We’re like points that only exist when defined by other references. You meet somebody; you exist. You help somebody; you exist. You save somebody; you matter. It does nothing to just do things for yourself, because you’re a closed system. Even society, society is about doing everything for every other person and trusting that web to stay up.” Louis laughed.

“You’re a fucking physics major.” He said accusingly, and he- oh my god- did he slide closer to me?

“No, I’m not.”

“What? But you talk to Harry about it all the time.”

“Even gravity is about interaction,” I replied. “I’m a history concentrator.” He put his arm around my shoulder and asked me why I was miserable. “I want to fall in love.” I told him.

“Okay.”

“Okay.” He shifted so that his feet were braced on the sidewalk in front of the bench and his one arm was on the back of the seat and the other was surging towards me and then it was brushing my cheek. His face was somehow so close to mine, just in front of mine. His eyes were blue. And he pressed his lips against mine- a warm and persistent touch. His breath rushed past my cheeks and smelled of mint and tea. His eyes were open and blue and he was terrifying yet somehow our conversation had stripped that away. And it was beyond me, like it was only just the outermost layer of Louis and he had pulled me in so that now it blanketed us both.

His hand traced down my side and slipped around my waist to press against my back and my own fingers were wrapped up in the shorter hairs at the base of his neck and he pushed me back and deepened the kiss, tracing my lips with his tongue. But only for a moment, before he pulled away. He was breathing like he’d just run a race and I was probably no better, but all I could focus on were his pinked cheeks, his chest as it heaved against his sweater with every deep breath, his messy hair and his blue eyes.

He stared back for what was probably several silent minutes. Then he cocked a wide grin and said, “let me take you home.”


	3. in which tea is consumed

All I could think about the next day was how the people he usually kissed probably would have invited him in. Or at least, they would have kissed him again instead of just waving like an idiot as he leaned against the rough brick outside the Entryway door. They would have given him their number and a sly, sexy look. I just hurried into the building and up to my dorm.

And now I couldn't stop thinking about him. I couldn't stop remembering his slow smile and his soft hands and the tickle of his beard against my cheeks. I was thinking about him instead of the math my professor was writing on the board. I was thinking about him instead of the direction I was walking. I was thinking about him instead of the path right in front of me. And of course, I slammed right into him.

“Whoa!” He caught me with warm, broad palms braced against my arms and a small smile tugging on his lips. “Are you okay?” That's when I realized that the situation could not possibly get any worse. I could not look any more the fool. I could not seem less attractive or more idiotic.

“I'm fine!” I answered with a grin that I really hoped looked cheerful and not mortified like I felt. “Fabulous as ever! Spectacular! Amazing!” He just looked at me, more than a little confused but he seemed to be humoring me at least because he laughed.

“Of course, if I had any doubts, they're gone.” I was staring at his lips. I'm sure it was obvious. “Where are you going?” Where was I going? Back to my dorm? To the library? I hadn't really thought about it (I was too busy thinking about Louis). So I shrugged and he seemed to perk up, his shoulders lifting just a slight bit and his cheeks flushing, briefly, pink. “Do you want to get lunch? Maybe. I dunno? Coffee?”

I watched his eyes, which seemed a lighter color than the previous night, and his hair which was beginning to flutter, picked up by the wind. I watched his hands slip into his pockets and his lips curve up into an even broader smile. I wanted to touch every part of him. I wanted to scream and run away. I wanted to brush my fingers along his jaw and follow them with my lips. I wanted to hide somewhere dark, somewhere far away from him. Somewhere far away with him. With his warm hands on the arch of my back and his chest pressed against my own. I wanted to never ever breathe any breath that hadn't mingled with his.

“I prefer tea.” I mumbled, unable to make much more noise, my previous bravery had completely abandoned me.

Louis laughed and he was so loud and was so sweet and so scary and he grabbed my hand and pulled me forward, forcing me to readjust the bag I had slung over my shoulder. “A girl after my own heart!”

 

 

Apparently I was not after his heart. “That,” he sighed into his mug, indicating my own cup with a tilt of his head, “is disgusting. Stop. Ew.”

“You are so immature. How do you even function?” We were sitting at a booth in the Starbucks that overlooked the Square and Louis had his legs splayed out down the seat beside him and his back propped up against the window. I at least had the decorum to sit upright, but Louis was being his usual loud and brash self, earning us some glares from the baristas and the boy at the table to my left who was curled over what looked like a very tedious book.

“It's part of my immense charm!” He wiggled his eyebrows and I choked on a laugh. “unlike yours, which is completely cancelled by your ridiculous taste in tea.”

“It's chamomile.”

“Green tea. is. Disgusting.”

“Just because you're british so you have to drink your bitter, british tea with heaps of sugar and- urgh- milk doesn't mean you can look down your british nose at my perfectly good green tea.”

“Green is the color of vomit.”

“Ew. God. What do you eat that your puke is that color?”

“Drugs. Or food coloring.”

“You're a child.” And that was it: he was a child. He just looked like an adult and sometimes, it seemed, he had adult feelings, but mostly always he was a child. He would look at me like he wanted me to laugh and he would joke until he'd coaxed out a smile. He had this barely contained energy that I had always assumed was the unfortunate byproduct of too much alcohol and excitement, but it turned out was just his natural demeanor. Even now, he was jiggling his leg on the seat like he couldn't keep still. And yet, like a child, he was unpredictable. He hated white chocolate and butter and he hated oranges and watermelon and for some reason he'd felt the need to inform me of all these things as we'd waited in line for our drinks.

Somehow he was still frightening. The childishness was doing little to alleviate that, instead it made him seem untouchable when all I could think about doing was touching him. I was in awe of him, and even as I sat and stared at him across the table, a part of my mind was jumping and screaming and clanging warning bells. That's not how you're supposed to feel about somebody you get involved with. That's how you end up with a broken heart and huge mess of a life. That's how you chase them away: with pathetic desperation.

He would always be light and easy and fun. He would always be beautiful and generous and smart. He would always be elegant and capable and bold. He would always be amazing and I would just be sad and tired and me. I would just be lonely and lost and annoying. A dirty little puppy or a shadow in the light of the sun.

“Are you okay?” Louis had moved and now he was sitting up straight and his elbows were perched on the table, his hands folded under his chin. He was staring at me precisely, like he was trying to decipher something etched onto the bridge of my nose. His lips were bunched to the side and twisted in a half-smirk of concentrated confusion and his eyes were locked on mine.

“What? Yes. Yes- I am. I'm fine.” I'm a moron.

“Well, it's just you were making this really weird face.” I blanched. I felt my cheeks heating up. I could only imagine what ridiculous expression I'd allowed to rule my features while my mind had been wandering, caught up by thoughts of Louis. Why could I do nothing without being utterly embarrassing? “It was...really sad- your face was. Like you were upset.”

“Oh.” I forced out a smile and he mirrored it with a broad one of his own, and I realized that despite the useless sputtering of my heart at the very notion of his attention and despite the panic that could grab my mind when he looked at me and the fear that was folded and stacked so carefully and readily in my gut, despite the endless distance I could feel stretching between us, I knew that I would never be free of Louis. I would never be able to let his smile and his deep blue eyes out of my heart.

 

__

 

“Have you had lunch?”

“Well hello to you too, Danielle.” I laughed, tossing my bag onto the chair next to my desk and plopping into Danielle’s.

“Well have you?” She called out from our room. “And hello.” She walked from our dorm room out into the common area of the suite, rubbing at her hair with a towel and giving me a questioning glare.

“No,” I admitted. Louis and I had just had tea, then he had begged off, claiming that he was already halfway through a lecture that he really needed to go to in order to pass him chem seminar. I felt pretty flattered that he'd missed his class for me. He'd asked me to drinks knowing full and well that he had a conflict. I let myself enjoy the idea that maybe he found me important enough to almost fail a class.

“Where even were you? I waited for, like, an hour after dance so we could go to lunch together.” She sighed, “whatever, jokes on you. I was super sweaty and laid all over your bed the whole time.”

“Ew. But you're clean now?”

“Yeah, I couldn't stand it anymore so I showered. I stole your shampoo.” Danielle's idea of payback. She was so sweet; it was crazy. She was still looking at me, expectantly, waiting for an answer. But I wasn't exactly ready to tell her yet. I had no idea what any of it meant: not last night's intimacy nor today's unexpected- dare I say it?- date. Mostly, I was afraid that if I opened my mouth I'd start squealing and gushing like a seventh grader with a crush. Louis already made me feel like a little kid; I didn't want to act like one. Instead, I slipped my student ID into my pocket and pulled open the suite door.

“Aren't you coming? I'm hungry.” I grinned at Danielle. She just shrugged and tossed the towel onto the low drying rack we kept next to the door and followed me out. Danielle was so easy sometimes, so sweet and unquestioningly trusting. She was lovely, inside and out, with her thick brown hair and her long lashes and her ready smile. It was bizarre luck that I'd been placed with the perfect roommate this fall. And we had blocked together with a few of our other friends so that we would be sharing a suite in one of the Leverett dorms by the river next year. Speaking of our block mates... “Have you talked to Perrie today?” I asked Danielle as we jogged down the stairs (exercise). “It's like 1-” I checked. “1:05. Yeah, she's usually at lunch about now.”

“I texted her this morning and she'll be there definitely by now. If you weren't so late we would have missed her completely.”

“Such was always my plan.” I joked as we left the dorm and entered the cool February air. Danielle laughed, but she didn't ask again where I'd been. I was grateful.

 

Harry was there when we got to the dining hall. He was sitting next to Perrie and laughing wildly, swinging his head back and his hair bounced lightly about his ears. Actually, we heard him first as we flashed our cards at the entrance to the hall, his laughter rang out around the wide room, bouncing off the high, arched ceilings and echoing more than a little bit. We both looked over, Danielle and I, and saw Perrie watching us, not even a smile on her face as Harry shook in his seat. When we’d reached the table, Harry was wiping his eyes with the sleeves of his sweater.

“Perrie is fucking hilarious!” He exclaimed in greeting, waving his arms about a bit and then finally slamming them down on either side of his plate. “She’s a fucking comic, she is. Bloody amazing.” Danielle looked taken aback as she sat down on Perrie’s other side, but I was watching Harry carefully, still standing, I wanted to see his pupils because more likely than not he was high as a kite.

“I said nothing even remotely funny.” Perrie deadpanned as I took a seat across from Harry. I was still watching for the giveaway shake of his hands or the dilation of his eyes, but he was moving about too much. “He’s insane. I didn’t sign up for this shit.” That set Harry off on another bout of laughter.

“Harry, what the hell are you on?” I tried to grab his shoulders and hold him a little still so that I could see his eyes. I was unsuccessful.

“But it’s 1 in the afternoon!” Danielle protested.

“The boy is a walking pharmacy. He’s probably tripping seven different types of high right now.” Perrie growled. Harry laughed louder. Perrie glared at him.

“I think...” I wrestled with Harry’s shoulders some more, “I think that you’re better off just not saying anything for now, Perrie. He’s clearly lost it, but it seems he’s lost it only for you.” Perrie looked like she was gonna murder somebody. She stabbed her fork into her...panini. It must have been Harry’s fork, then, but it crushed her sandwich a bit and the force of the blow made her glass of water shake. And made Harry laugh again.

“Harry! What did you take?” I had given up on his shoulders and now I was just staring at him, sounding fairly exasperated.

“Actually, he hasn’t taken anything.” A plate, piled with what could have been several meals, clattered onto the table, followed by a grinning Niall who clapped Harry on the shoulder then exclaimed, “I’ll be right back!” and scuttled away (yes, scuttled in a way that only Niall could ever manage).

Harry nodded his head like a bobble toy, first up and down in agreement, then all over when he apparently realized how silly it was. “He’s right. I am sooooober.”

“Impossible.”

“haha, Perrie, you are a HOOT!”

Perrie just glared down at her demolished sandwich. “Whatever.” Then she turned to Danielle and asked her a pointedly dry question about their upcoming Bio midterm. Harry chuckled like it was a sly joke. I just stood, lunch was suddenly so exhausting, and made off toward the food lines.

I found Niall there, filling another plate. He looked up when I stood next to him and saluted me like he was off on some mission to devour more food than was physically possible. “Don’t you already have a plate filled with food?” Niall shrugged his, ‘hey, you can never have enough food’ shrug and moved away toward the fruit. I sighed, at least he ate healthy things too.

Somebody sighed behind me at the same time; I spun around and it was Harry, standing pretty damn close and watching Niall walk away. “Where does he put it all?” Harry asked Niall’s receding form.

I answered instead, “his head, god knows nothing else is stored up there.” Harry laughed softly and moved so that he was next to me instead of just creepily behind me. Then he sidled closer and bumped his arm against my shoulder (he was tall and I...was not).

“I am sober, you know.” He stared at me hard, like it was very important that I knew. “I just like fucking with Perrie. She makes the best faces.” That’s the thing about Harry; he didn’t need the high. He didn’t need the alcohol to make him reckless or the pills to make him airy and giggly and loud. He’s naturally all those things, but he still partied like Lindsay Lohan and shred his liver to nothing on a daily basis. I was regularly surprised we were friends. He was the kind of up&down that made me dizzy by association. He attended classes sometimes actually holding a bottle of whiskey and he had, on more than one occasion, slept with someone so that they’d write an essay he could have written, but didn’t feel like doing. He was the sort of boy who, in high school, I would have glared at for stumbling through the hallways high or making a scene in the library when I was trying to study. And yet, I couldn’t help but laugh even now at how ridiculous he was.

He was light hearted and crazy and he sucked people in and held onto them and as he slung a long arm over my shoulder I knew that he was a friend that I wouldn’t trade for anything. Stupid Harry Styles.

“I know what you did last night.” His breath tickled my neck as he leaned down to whisper into my ear. “I know who you did last night.” I froze, then shook his arm off and laughed.

“We didn’t have sex, you perv.” I grabbed a plate and started scooping green beans onto it.

“But you wanted to.” He was teasing me. He put an arm on either side of mine, holding onto the table where the food was arranged and boxing me in between his chest and the vegetables. “I must admit.” He pressed forward, pushing his crotch against my back in the most ridiculously provocative way, “that ass makes even my very taken dick twitch.” I was about to spin around and yell at Harry, but he had a tendency to go just a little too far and I didn’t want to give him easier access to my boobs (it would not have been the first time he’d grabbed them to make a point).

Then Niall strolled past, second plate displaying an impressive capacity to withstand its mountain of food, and tugged on the back of Harry’s shirt. “Come on, you manwhore.” He said and Harry pulled away from me and followed. I watch them walk away, Harry had slipped his arm around Niall’s waste and was trying to pick fries from the top of Niall’s pile but was deftly swatted away. Quickly, he glanced over his shoulder and shot me a knowing, incredibly smug look. I flipped him off and went on to the pasta station. Fuck him, I thought. And, Louis did have an excellent ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently Harry is super into drugs. I did not see that coming.


End file.
